


rooftop declarations

by simplyclockwork



Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:01:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21674899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: Sherlock confesses his love to John in a way that only Sherlock Holmes would think of as romantic.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Tumblr Inspired/Prompted Sherlock Fics - Part One [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1528859
Comments: 13
Kudos: 97





	rooftop declarations

**Author's Note:**

> A reply to @imnotactuallygay's comment for a fic on this post:
> 
> https://imnotactuallygay.tumblr.com/post/189475278345/this-is-actually-super-cute-someone-write-a

The day Sherlock texts him to step out onto Baker Street and look up, John’s heart almost stops. The text reminds him of Bart’s and believing Sherlock was dead, of his own chest feeling ripped open and empty at the sight of blood and staring eyes on the pavement.

When he steps into the street, crossing to the sidewalk on the other side, and finds Sherlock standing on the roof of their flat, his breath catches in his throat. “Sherlock!” he yells, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. “What the bloody _hell_ do you think you’re doing up there!?”

“John!” Sherlock shouts down to him, heavy coat and dark curls swirled by the wind. “I have to tell you something!” 

John’s eyes widen with disbelief, and he balls his hands into tight fists. “From the _roof?_ _Really?”_

 _“_ Yes, John!” comes the resolute reply, and John pinches the bridge of his nose and sucks in a loud breath.

Eyes closed, he shouts his reply, “Why?” The single word strongly conveys his exasperation, even as he fights to keep flashback images from overwhelming him. Time has done little to heal the wound he feels in his chest when he remembers Sherlock’s false suicide. “Bloody _why?”_

Sherlock makes an annoyed sound, a loud, frustrated noise. “Because sentiment is hard for me, John!” he yells, waving his arms like a large, awkward crow. “And I don’t want you to hit me if I’m wrong, so here I am.”

“Why would I hit you?” John shouts back, bewildered. Another frustrated noise from Sherlock drifts to him from above.

“Why do you make me do this, you moron!” Sherlock calls back, voice rough with exasperation. “Why don’t you tell me how you feel so I don’t have to?!” There’s a long pause, in which John imagines he can actually hear the angry grind of Sherlock’s teeth. The detective continues, yelling, “I bloody love you!” 

A moment of silence stretches out, and John’s mouth falls open. In the sheer insanity of the moment, he is unable to suppress a bark of laughter that makes him balance his hands on his knees, bending over with helpless giggles. 

On the roof, Sherlock’s face is thunderous.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, John Watson! You’re no better at expressing your emotions!” He sounds indignant and furious, and that only makes John laugh harder. 

Finally, wiping tears from his eyes, he gets himself back under control and stands straight again. Looking up at the madman on the roof, he grins and shakes his head. “Get _down here_ , you absolute nutter!” he calls, voice softening with affection. 

A pause, Sherlock looking uncertain. Then, “Are you going to hit me?”

John snorts, shaking his head again. “Not even close. Get down here so I can snog you good and proper, you wanker.”

Grinning, Sherlock begins his slow crawl down the building; hops onto the bins stationed at the side and onto the ground. He strides across the street—hardly looking for oncoming traffic and earning an eye roll from John—until they stand across from one another on the opposite side from 221B. 

Looking up at the detective, John laughs. “You are insane, you know that?” he says, and Sherlock looks smug.

“Yup," he replies, popping the p at the end of the word. “And you love it.” John grins, grabs the taller man by his coat collar and pulls his head down. 

“I bloody well do,” John hums and makes good on his threat to snog the detective good and proper. 


End file.
